


History repeats itself

by Fox_In_A_Box



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hopeful Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, kind of, post-5x11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 22:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18583894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box
Summary: A quiet evening by a very familiar fireplace offers the chance for Ed and Oswald to have a much-needed talk about what happened during the last days of No Man’s Land.





	History repeats itself

In the end, Ed decided to stay at the mansion.

Not that he had many other places to go. And while part of him was still convinced that in order to truly start anew and lay the metaphorical foundations of his domain over Gotham City he would need to find a place for himself, somewhere he could call his own, his more sentimental side, the one that despite his best efforts in ignoring it always made itself heard, craved the comfort of familiarity. After all, he reasoned, there would be plenty of time for building his own personal headquarters once the reconstruction was complete and the city was whole again.

Oswald, for his part, didn't complain. If anything, he looked relieved when he expressed his intention of claiming his old bedroom from back in the times of the mayoral campaign, as well as the small office he had spent so many afternoons sorting out paperwork and official documents in.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you wish, my friend," he said, a rare smile gracing his features. " _Mi casa es su casa_!"

And with that, it was settled.

As days passed, Ed started to grow fond of the atmosphere. Now devoid of house staff - with the only exception of the ever-so-loyal Olga - Van Dahl Mansion was quiet and peaceful both during the day and during the long nights he spent at his desk, hunched over all sorts of projects that would mark his triumphant return on the scene of Gotham's criminal underworld. He spent so much time working in his old office, in fact, that he often ended up eating his meals there. When he remembered to eat at all, that is.

That night was no different. At least until _something_ bumped against the leg of his desk, sending papers and writing supplies skidding across the wooden surface. He wasn't able to get the pen away from the paper he was working on fast enough to prevent it from leaving a big, dark stain of black ink right in the centre.

"Oh dear," he muttered under his breath. Then, he raised his voice to address the only person that could be visiting him in his study so late in the evening. "Would it kill you to be more careful?"

"Such easy words to say for someone who still has the gift of depth perception," was the answer.

Next thing he heard was a small huff, followed by the unmistakeable sound of someone letting himself fall on the leather armchair not too far from the writing station.

"Which reminds me..." Ed trailed off, setting aside pen and papers in a neat order, before raising from his chair.

He didn't miss the displeased twist in the curve of Oswald's mouth when he saw him approaching, well aware of his intentions. As much as he hated having Ed fuss around his injury, it was a necessary routine. It was already bad enough he had firmly refused to let Lee treat him, forcing Ed to brush up his sparse knowledge of trauma handling from his college days; there was no need to increase the chances of an infection only because he refused to cooperate.

"Do we really need to do this now?" Oswald groaned. "I'm exhausted."

"I can't let you go to bed without changing your bandages first," Ed insisted. "It will only take a minute."

Defeated, Oswald let out a deep sigh. He made a point of not looking back at him directly, however, letting his sound eye wander about the dimly-lit room instead, as if he suddenly found the office's décor extremely interesting. "Fine. Just make it quick."

As soon as the tip of his fingers brushed against the bandages, Oswald flinched, pushing himself back on the armchair as far as the ornate backrest allowed. Ed hesitated. His only eye now fixed on him, Oswald looked very much like a wounded animal ready to either flee in utter panic or viciously jump at the throat of whoever was foolish enough to get any closer. He was gripping the armrests with both hands, so tight that his knuckles had turned white. Ed felt a pang of guilt in his chest. A sensation he had learned to recognise, if only because of how often it presented itself, painful and without warning, ever since the final standoff against Bane's army. All it took was one brief glance in Oswald's direction and his brain started replaying scenes from the gunfight in quick succession; the grenade landing a few feet from him, Oswald shouting his name at the top of his lungs just before tackling him to the ground in one desperate effort to shield him from the blast, the agonising scream he let out as shrapnel pierced his flesh and blood started to pour out.

Trying his best to keep the memories at bay, Ed carefully undid the bandages that protected what was left of Oswald's eye. Once the dried blood had been cleaned up and the stitching was complete, it didn't look as bad as he had initially thought. The skin around the eye socket was still red and sore, but from the looks of it, it seemed that the healing process had already started. Ed couldn't help but feel relieved. He prodded at it lightly, to make sure the stitches still held, painfully aware of how Oswald's body tensed each time his fingers made contact with the skin.

"The swelling has subsided," he said, unsure if he was trying to reassure Oswald, himself, or if he was maybe just stating the facts. "I think I'll wait another week before removing the stitches. It's improbable there will be any permanent scarring."

 "Improbable?"

"Medicine is not an exact science, I'm afraid."

Oswald seemed on the verge of replying with one of his trademark biting, sarcastic remarks, but something appeared to be holding him back. His mouth fell shut, lips pursing in a thin, serious line.

"I'll get some clean bandages," Ed said.

With that, he excused himself out of the room. He vaguely heard Oswald mutter something about waiting for him downstairs, but he was already too far down the corridor that led to the bathroom to hear him clearly. The following gestures were practiced, mechanical. He had repeated them so often in the last few days that he didn't even need to think to remember that Oswald kept the remaining drugs and medical supplies in a small cabinet beneath the sink. He fetched the bandages, a half-empty bottle of antiseptic, and a cotton pad. For a moment, his hand hovered above a small box of painkillers. Eventually, however, he left it where it was and closed the door of the cabinet. He doubted he would be able to persuade Oswald to take them, anyway. Just once Ed had managed to slip some in his glass and, when he had found out, he had lashed out at him with such force that the wound had started bleeding anew. Drugs clouded his mind and now more than ever he needed to be vigilant - that's what he had said later, once he had calmed down and allowed Ed to fix the stitches.

When he came back, supplies in hand, he found Oswald waiting for him the sitting room. He had taken off his jacket and shoes, and now lay back against a pillow with his legs stretched out on the couch in front of the fireplace in only his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. When he heard the sound of Ed's shoes clacking on the floor, Oswald cracked his eye open to stare back at him.

"I wanted to get more comfortable," he explained.

Ed nodded. "Of course."

Oswald shifted a bit to the side, so that Ed could sit on the edge of the couch.

The rebandaging was a quick affair. In his absence, Oswald had poured himself a glass or two of whiskey, which had eased his nerves somewhat and allowed him to endure the process with more patience and less ill-concealed irritation. He even started talking, at some point, while Ed busied himself with the medication. He rambled about his attempts at gaining back the loyalty of his men, about the alliances he was meaning to seal, about the precautions they would have to take once Jim Gordon inevitably broke his promise of a pardon for all criminals who had helped him fight against Bane. Ed was more than happy to offer him advice and opinions as he worked. Had it not been for the occasional hiss of discomfort, it could have almost passed for a casual conversation instead of a chore.

"There you go," He finally declared, giving Oswald what he hoped would come off as an encouraging pat on his leg. "Just call me if you need something else."

The other man hummed in response, not bothering with a proper answer. Nor with any other show of gratitude. Ed was about to get up, with the full intention of returning back to work, when the unexpected sound of Oswald's voice persuaded him to stay where he was.

"I want you to know, Ed, that I don't hold you responsible for what happened. It was my choice. A stupid choice, you may argue, and I won't say you're wrong. But a choice nonetheless," he paused there, looking up at him with his only good eye. "So _please_ , stop torturing yourself."

So, it was time. Time for the talk they had been putting off for days, ever since the siege of Gotham had ended. In silent agreement, they had refrained from acknowledging the hows and whys of what had happened, both knowing all too well that they couldn't circle around it forever - not when they had decided to settle their differences and leave their old grudges behind. Had it been up to Ed, he would have gladly forgotten about it, something he was sure was going to be even easier once Oswald's wound healed, erasing the last remainder of his sacrifice. But alas, Oswald seemed to have other plans. With the fire cracking in the background, the big room illuminated only by the orange hue of the flames, the scene looked all too familiar. He was sure Oswald must have noticed too.

"I didn't deserve it."

The words spilled out of his mouth before he could stop them. It was a confession, not unlike the one he had voiced years prior, on that same couch, in front of that same fire. If then he had confessed his undying devotion for the man who had allowed him to break free from his cage, physically and mentally, and do, oh such wonderful things, he was now letting out that little nagging thought that had been lingering at the back of his head for some time.

_History repeats itself._

Oswald snorted. "Of course you didn't! But here we are."

Ed remained silent. He watched the flames dance before his eyes for a while, waiting for the words to come to him. Eventually, they did.

"I remember you telling me there couldn't be one without the other, once. We weren't on the best of terms..."

Which was an understatement, really. At the time, Ed had been grieving the death of the woman he loved and Oswald had been mourning the loss of his best - no, of his only friend to his own selfish desire to keep him all to himself. Oswald had a gun pointed to his chest and was on the verge of tears, or maybe he had been crying already and Ed struggled to tell because of the cold rain pouring over them from the sky.

Oswald chuckled, of all things. "No, we weren't."

Ed found himself chuckling back in sympathy. He would have never thought that one day they would come to laugh about their darkest hour and yet, as Oswald just said, here they were.

"I didn't accept it, at the time, but now I know you were right. I wouldn't be here without you."

"On the contrary," Oswald rebutted. "You would be far from here. Sailing away in your submarine and ready to start over on the mainland, far from this city in ruins."

There was some truth in Oswald's words. He would have been a hypocrite if he had said he never thought about it. About what could have been, if that day on the pier he had decided to follow his head, relying on cold logic instead of taking a leap of faith, allowing his heart to decide what came next. But he would have been a hypocrite all the same if he had said he regretted it.

"It wouldn't have worked," Ed said. "I designed the submarine so that it could only be piloted by two people."

Oswald raised one eyebrow. "Did you? My puppy Edward must be an excellent pilot, then."

"I..." he began, but soon realised he had no idea of what he wanted to say. Or rather he had, but for the life of him he couldn't find the right words to say it.

He should have seen it coming. Oswald was no fool. He was no dumb policeman who could be thrown for a loop with a riddle and a couple of fancy words, and he knew him better than either of them cared to admit. It was why Ed had decided to lie to him in the first place. Seeing him arrive at the precinct, he was bound to ask him why and then the answer would be too long, too complicated, too shameful. Lying had been easy, straightforward. He had always been a good liar, after all. But now he was cornered, the feeling that whatever he could come up with to dissimulate the real reason behind his change of heart would sound pathetic and desperate at Oswald's ears creeping up along his back. The self-professed cold logician left speechless in front of his own feelings.

Oswald waved his hand dismissively. "Save your lies, Ed. I believe we're past that."

Ed swallowed hard, almost flinching when he felt how dry his throat was. He licked his lips instinctively, but not even then was he able to coax the words out of his mouth. Oswald took his silence as his cue to continue his speech.

"I know The Riddler won't settle for any other city," he went on. "It's Gotham he wants, isn't it? I suppose it won't be too difficult ripping it from my hands now that I'm...well, like _this_. Poor Penguin, first his leg and now his eye. Just a matter of time before he starts falling apart, like his criminal empire before him."

Ed wanted to laugh.

Oswald was wrong! He was so, so wrong and he didn't even realise it! How could he even think it had been his attachment to a doomed city to keep him from sailing away? Gotham was Oswald's kingdom, not his. Gotham had never done anything for him, other than kick him when he was down, over and over again. The only thing he would have loved to do if he ever got a hold of it was burn it to the ground, but Bane and his army had already done an excellent job at it. No need for a repeat performance.

Yet, if he did laugh, Oswald would no doubt misunderstand. He would think he was mocking him, having a good laugh out of his pitiful situation. He would have achieved nothing nothing but setting off his dear friend's tragically short temper and that wasn't what he wanted. All of a sudden, Ed knew what else he wanted to do. What else he _needed_ to do.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against Oswald's. It was unlike anything he had ever pictured in his mind. Because he had thought about it, oh so many times. He had thought about it that night in front of the fireplace, pictured Oswald leaning in not for a hug but for a kiss, deep and desperate to show him how relieved he was that he was alive. He had thought about it on the pier, restrained himself from letting the gun drop from his hands and cup Oswald's face instead, forcing him into an angry, violent kiss just to show him what love really was. He had thought about pulling him in and kissing him through the bars of their ridiculous cages back in the Court of Owls, as soon as he realised he was really there, Oswald Cobblepot in the flesh and not another cruel illusion conjured by his mind. And he had thought about it when Oswald had been lying on his lap, half his face covered in fresh blood, felt the urge to kiss him because he wasn't sure he would get another chance.

This was different. It was soft, like Oswald's mouth on his, and careful as if they both feared hurting each other. It was so easy, kissing him, that it was almost scary. Ed cursed himself for having waited for so long. When Oswald's fingers tangled in his hair, he let out a small sigh.

"I'm sorry," he whispered on his lips, when they broke apart to catch their breath. "If it's too late, I...I understand."

Oswald shifted under him, but before Ed could have any chance to complain he tilted his head to press another kiss against his temple. A shiver ran down Ed's spine. It was somewhat even more intimate than the kiss they had shared moments before.

"It's not too late," Oswald murmured. "I never stopped..."

There was no need for him to complete the sentence. _I never stopped loving you_. _I never stopped caring._ _I never stopped waiting for you to come back._ Each of them true in its own right.

Ed felt his heart shrink in his chest at how weak Oswald's voice sounded. He wanted to hold him tight, feel his warm breath on his skin, his heart beating in his chest, and soon he realised there was nothing to prevent him from doing so. And so he did. They held each other for what could have been minutes or could have been hours, too scared to pull away. He didn't know when they found the courage to let go of one another. He didn't know how he ended up resting his head on Oswald's chest, with Oswald's own fingers tracing slow patterns on his back over the light fabric of his shirt. And to be utterly, completely honest, he didn't care. The only thing he cared for was the soothing warmth of Oswald's body against his.

"I'm not asking you to forget what I've done to you. What we've both done. It would be unfair, after everything we've put each other through..." Still, he felt like the words were failing him. There was so much he wanted Oswald to know and so little he could say to do justice to what he felt. "But we can try."

"Yes," Oswald agreed, leaving another tender kiss on the top of his head. "We can work on that. We have all the time we need."

As he closed his eyes and released the breath he hadn't realised he was holding, Ed knew he had never felt so at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, the news about Ed and Ozzie spending ten years apart during the time jump dropped just as I was finishing this one. As a result, Oswald's last line sounds more bitter and ironical than hopeful as I had intended it to be, but welll...you can always do like I do: completely disregard canon and convince yourself that they went on to become Gotham's most infamous duo, striking fear in the hearts of their enemies for 10+ years. Yes, that sounds about right.


End file.
